At the Fashionistas party the other night a woman innocently took her breasts out and began fondling them. Then a bunch of photographers showed up. A symbiotic relationship, yes, but cui fucking bono?
I understand Vegas’ consumer entertainment economy because I often wear an America’s Beloved Porn Journalist costume in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre to the delight of tourists.
Still, scenes like this solidify my belief that women undergoing routine (but still disconcerting) mammograms would be cheered if only their health insurance paid for a gaggle of paparazzi to materialize and say encouraging things like, “Honey, look over here,” and “More lips, Bright Eyes.”
Fashionistas producer/director John Stagliano told me that the dance show will be closing in a few months.
“It’s been running for three years, and it’s an expensive show to keep afloat,” he said. Several performers have been with the cast through its entirety. I imagine the leather cleaning bills are astronomical.
Attendees were treated to a 15-minute snippet of the show, which was titillating, symmetrical, and fleshy, loosely following the plot of the first Fashionistas movie.
what a hottie
very nice blog!